


I've Come Too Far to See the End

by eponymmouse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Era, Dark, Episode Related, Gen, Morgana's POV, Post-5.11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponymmouse/pseuds/eponymmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana finds out that Merlin is Emrys. She wants some answers. </p><p>(They are both victims and killers, and Arthur stands, unharmed, amid the carnage.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Come Too Far to See the End

**Author's Note:**

> My gratitude to agedsolarwhisk for looking over this, and for her help with the title.

_Merlin is Emrys_ , Mordred had said.

Merlin. The ever-bumbling servant, whose eyes had betrayed unwavering hatred of her in that last year in the castle. Who follows Arthur everywhere. Who has not, not ever—

She hadn’t thought she could still feel this, but Mordred’s words left her breathless. And it’s not anger clawing at her chest.

Not even when he’d thought she was _dying_ did Merlin reveal to her, did he give her any indication that he knew exactly how it felt. That they had this in common. That, all those years—

Morgana’s nails press deep into her palms. And in that moment, she is no longer afraid of Emrys. Not at all.

***

_“Did you never want to kill Uther? After all he’s done to you—to us all? He would have killed you in a heartbeat, Merlin. You and your mother, for harbouring a sorcerer.”_

_“I—it wasn’t, I. Of course I thought about it. Of course I did. It would have been so much easier, but—”_

_“But what? You’re supposed to have unmatched power, Merlin. You could have done it, and freed us.”_

_“It wasn’t my choice to make.”_

_“And yet you stopped me when I tried to make it for you.”_

_“It wasn’t yours, either.”_

***

She spends long nights in her northern keep remembering his lopsided smile, and matching it up with what she now knows of his ruthlessness.

Mordred answers all of her questions, pouring his hurts out eagerly, thinking she wants to know how to destroy Merlin. And she does. She does.

But this is not why she feels vindicated with Mordred’s every word.

Mordred says: _He never trusted me._

Mordred whispers: _He left me to die, that time when you attacked us._

_I hoped he would be my friend. He knew what I had gone through._

Morgana listens, and she plans. 

And when Merlin walks into her trap—because he’s still ridiculously gullible, despite all the times he’s been betrayed and all he lies he’s told—she feels alive, for the first time in an age.

He sags in the restraints that bind his magic, and glares at her.

He won’t leave until she has the answers that he owes her. And when he dies, she’ll be the one to shut his eyes.

***

_“I heard you were—kept captive, for a long time. I’m sorry. It must have been—”_

_“You have no idea what it was like, Merlin. So don’t you even dare—”_

_“I’m sorry. I heard—a dragon, you protected him. A white dragon? I heard—”_

_“I don’t care what you heard. But if you think that you can ever harm it to get to me—if you ever think you can kill it just to watch me suffer—”_

_“What? I wouldn’t—it’s a dragon, it’s not like it can be easily—”_

_“I don’t care. I don’t care! I won’t let you harm it!”_

_“I—what do you think I can even do, like this?”_

***

Merlin’s eyes are still that deep, captivating blue. His black hair lies plastered with sweat to his forehead, and his neckcloth has slipped off, leaving him looking somehow vulnerable without it. Exposed. 

But at the same time, more real. The servant has fallen away, and only a sorcerer remains. Morgana’s equal.

The thought is thrilling and terrifying, at once.

“What do you want with me, Morgana?” Merlin rasps out, blood seeping from his broken lip.

Morgana watches the red liquid coalesce into a drop.

“I want you to hurt, Merlin, as I’ve been hurt,” she says, stroking a finger down his cheek. “I want you to watch Arthur die. I want you to know that all you’ve done was for nothing.”

“Was it really? Arthur still lives, and he’s king,” Merlin says.

His grin is more a snarl, all teeth and no warmth. For a moment, Morgana doesn’t recognize him at all.

She wonders if the cracks in him are only visible to her. She wonders if she only notices because she sees the same expression in her mirror, every day.

She lifts another hand to Merlin’s face, traces the outline of his jaw, his brows.

“Do you ever spare a thought for all whom you’ve killed?” she asks. “Do you ever spare a thought for me, and how it’s your fault that we’re here now?”

“I cared for you, Morgana,” Merlin says, heavily, “and I—I blame myself so much. But that doesn’t make anything you’ve done any better. And knowing now what your choices were, I still wouldn’t—if you’d known, you’d have—”

“Betrayed you?” Morgana supplies. Her laugh is a bitter, choked thing. “Betrayed the one person who might have understood?”

“You didn’t stand up for the druids, after you’d been found with them,” Merlin says, grim. “And you could have destroyed me with one word.”

“Destroyed you,” Morgana repeats. “Even if I’d sold you out to Uther—you, the strongest sorcerer in the world—you would never have had to die. You could have fled the dungeons, fled the pyre. The worst thing that would have happened —you might have had to leave Arthur’s side.”

Her nails drag over Merlin’s left cheekbone, digging in, leaving light red trails.

“And you could never allow that to happen, could you? You’d never leave him. No matter the cost.”

She stares into his eyes, so deep and blue and weary.

“No matter who had to die. Not even me, your friend. Not even if I went slowly out of my mind, not knowing what was happening to me, fearing myself and Uther and Arthur and never knowing if I’d survive the day. No matter my nightmares, my fears. You’d sacrifice the world, to stay with Arthur.”

A beat passes, and she presses her nails deeper into his skin.

“Do you think Arthur would have wanted that? Do you think he would have _chosen_ to hurt so many people, just to keep you near?”

Merlin tries to jerk his head away, and finally she knows she’s scored a hit.

“You’ve never told him of your magic. You’ve never given him a choice. Because he might choose differently, and you can’t have that. You won’t let him separate you, and you don’t really care what he wants. You’ll sacrifice anyone who stands in his way—in your way. And you call _me_ selfish.”

“Arthur is the future of this land,” Merlin says through gritted teeth.

“No, Merlin, _you_ were the future of this land,” Morgana says, “before you chose to damn us all for Arthur. Mordred has told me. Where’s your united Albion? Where’s magic, being returned to the land? Where’s the legendary _Emrys_ who would guide the king instead of blindly following him?”

“Arthur is a good man,” Merlin whispers, looking at her. “You can’t see him through your hatred—”

“And you can’t see him through your love,” Morgana answers. “And it’s your love for him that will destroy us all.”

Merlin glares, and it’s the power curling around him even now, when he’s helpless in her restraints, that draws her to him. She knows it’s that. And also—

They are two of a kind. They are the only sorcerers in Uther’s household, whose destinies are tied together through murder and betrayal.

Her lips touch his, and she tastes blood.

***

_“That time, when we were hiding Mordred together—”_

_“Then, yeah, I—”_

_“Me too.”_

***

He’s paler on the second day, weak with dehydration and despair. Mordred wants to see him, but Morgana has forbidden it. She will not deprive herself of the contact, however.

Merlin remembers her as she once was. He is a bridge between her present and her past, and he may be the only one who knows what it was like for her.

Morgause thought it was so simple: hating Uther, betraying Camelot, wanting Arthur dead. It’s not simple. It never was.

“Tell me what you did,” Morgana demands, walking into Merlin’s cell. “Tell me how you rescued Arthur from my army. Tell me what happened to Agravaine. Tell me— _tell me,_ Merlin.” 

***

_“How could you do that, to Gwen? To Gaius? All the people you used to love, Morgana—”_

_“All the people who have betrayed me.”_

_“I was the only one who betrayed you. And you betrayed us all first.”_

_“I didn’t know! I didn’t know I was the focus of the spell, and you didn’t tell me! You chose to poison me, like a coward!”_

_“I’m sorry. I really am, I am, so much. But people were dying, the whole of Camelot was dying. I had no choice.”_

_“You had a choice.”_

_“Well then, so did you. Were you not in league with Morgause?”_

_“That doesn’t matter—”_

_“Of course not, because it’s only about you, isn’t it?”_

***

On the third day, Merlin starts talking. She brings him food, and grasps greedily at every story, at every morsel of truth. 

She listens as he tells her of the men he’s killed, for Arthur. Of the lies he’s told, for Arthur. Of people he’s lost, and never said a word.

She catches his tears with her fingers, and spreads them on her hands, his hair, her dress.

She sees them in her mind’s eye—two figures on the stone floor, their heads bowed, their clothes but rags. She imagines the blood on Merlin’s hands, and on hers.

She pictures Arthur, golden and ignorant, and wants to claw out his eyes.

For herself. For Merlin. For what he’s done to Merlin, and what Merlin has done to her.

***

_“Why do you hate Arthur so much? Uther, I understand, but Arthur—”_

_“He is his father’s son! He is full of bigotry and conceit. He will ruin this kingdom.”_

_“You’re one to talk! You’ve done your best to bring strife into the land, and killed innocent people just to make a point, Morgana! You care nothing for this land, or for these people.”_

_“Maybe not. But then, neither do you.”_

***

Arthur attacks on the fifth day.

He’s brought a whole force with him, and Morgana doesn’t know whether it’s coincidence that he’s attacking now, or whether he’s followed Merlin here.

It doesn’t matter.

She’s with Merlin when Arthur finds them—sweeping in, all red cape and gleaming armour.

“Merlin!” he shouts, and maybe he knew what he would find.

“Arthur, _no_ ,” Merlin gasps, horrified, as Morgana gets up. “Run, Arthur! Morgana, please, please don’t—”

It brings her no joy to hear Merlin beg—not when it’s for Arthur’s sake.

“Dear brother,” she snarls, and throws out a hand.

Arthur’s not even made two steps when he flies through the air and crashes into a wall with a loud clang of metal on stone.

“Morgana, please, no,” Merlin entreats, tugging frantically at the restraints.

“I hope you’ve said your goodbyes, Arthur, because the next breath will be your last.”

She has a vicious pleasure in seeing his widened eyes, and then she extends a hand and begins to fold her fingers into a fist—

“NO!”

A violent force tosses her to the side; she hits stone, feeling her skin break open and her bones snap and her head ring.

But it _can’t be—_

 _“Merlin?”_ she hisses out, and spits out blood.

Merlin crouches next to Arthur, whose expression is showing exquisite devastation in every line.

“Arthur, I—” Merlin stutters, eyes in feverish focus on Arthur’s face.

“You have magic,” Arthur accuses, and his tone says  _you are the filthiest traitor that ever lived._

“Oh well spotted, dear brother,” Morgana grits out, and tries to stand.

She fails. She—she can’t lever herself up, she—

Her head swims, and her body refuses to cooperate.

“Are you with her?” Arthur demands, pointing Morgana’s way. “Did you lure me here?”

“Arthur, no, I never—”

“But now that he knows, Merlin, he wants you dead anyway,” Morgana says, forcing the sounds through her pained throat. “This is what he thinks. This is all he can ever be.”

“Shut up!” Merlin shouts, and the whole cell shakes.

Morgana draws a raspy breath, another. She feels—she doesn’t know what she feels. The pain seems to be retreating behind a veil of numbness, and things don’t seem to _matter_ as much as they usually do.

“Arthur, we need to get you out of here,” Merlin says, somewhere in the distance.

“Don’t _touch_ me—”

“Arthur, I’m sorry, but we really don’t have time. Just—will you—”

“Morgana. Is she—did you _kill—”_

“ _Oh, gods.”_

Morgana feels hands on her forearm, her shoulder, turning her over. She manages to open an eye, and gets a blurry image of Merlin, hovering very close to her face.

“Morgana, I’m—you’re going to be okay, I’m going to—I’m so sorry—”

“You.” She runs out of breath, tries again. “You would. Heal me?”

“I’ve done it before,” Merlin says. “I’ve done this before and I’ve fixed it, and I know I can—I know—Morgana, stay with me—”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur’s voice calls out, and Morgana can’t tell if it’s outrage or distress colouring his tone. “Are you actually—”

“She’s your sister, Arthur,” Merlin whispers, close to Morgana’s ear. “She’s your sister, and she could have been—she—” 

“Don’t,” Morgana says, but she’s not angry. She’s just—she can’t do this, now or ever. But especially not now. “Your. Pity, guilt, don’t need it.”

“What do you need?” Merlin asks. His hands cradle the back of her skull, and it feels—wet, oddly.

“Stay,” she says.

“I’ll stay,” Merlin promises, and she gets another look at his eyes, shining bright and hard, like sapphires in his tired face. Reflected in them are all the futures she has seen—all the futures that have come to pass, and all the paths not taken. 

In another world—

It may have been so, so different for them. But that was not her life. That is not her death.

“You were my destiny,” she tells Merlin, finding the strength to fuel her words. “And my doom. Emrys.”

His eyes are the last things she sees, but she feels the touch of his hand for a small eternity as she drifts off.


End file.
